


R + his undeniable love for someone he will forget about

by katrinaskata



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, IM UGLY CRYING, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, canon reddie, eddie kaspbrak deserves the world, i am so heartbroken for my boys, i cant believe richie forgets eddie ugh stephen king, they are canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 14:54:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20194093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katrinaskata/pseuds/katrinaskata
Summary: Love is a maze. When you think you've found its loopholes, it drags you back to where you started. It doesn't want us to discover its origin or meaning. It wants us to just simply love and be loved.When the time comes, Richie will forget. And when he returns for the last time in 27 years, he'll kiss Eddie again, with the same traces of affection. Even so, he'll forget for whom he cried so much on the day when all evil was diminished. He will forget who gave him such a tender touch. He'll forget at who his first "I love you" was aimed at. His only "I love you", actually.But for now all he can do is ask Eddie to finish the carving he's been thinking about for so long.Maybe in another lifetime, Richie, my love.No more dreams. Just breathe, Rich. It's okay."You're okay" Eddie's voice resonates in Richie's head throughout his whole life. Even when he doesn't know it's Eddie.One. Two. Three. Breathe out. You're okay.





	R + his undeniable love for someone he will forget about

"Fucking hell." Richie dropped his bike onto the dry grass with a huff because, involuntarily , it landed on his foot. So clumsy, goddamn. 

It seemed as though he grew up quite a fair amount since August. His unruly, chocolate-like curls seemed to darken as Summer concluded. There was no room for light, discoloured streaks of light brown anymore and the wind bleached his face of any freckle. Could you believe it, that Maggie got him a new pair of glasses? They were more circular, he claimed they looked formal when Eds said he looks like a librarian. Not in a million years would Richie become a librarian. His mouth's too much of a bother. Always chatting. "Blah, blah, blah is all I'm hearing. You blabber-mouth!" he heard in Eddie's light, creamy voice.

His jaw is sharp, so are his words. But he's learning to use them in moderation. In a kind way. He's like a little kid learning to talk again. Eddie taught him to be more thoughtful towards what he says to other people. And Richie listened. Because it's Eddie and Eddie is the one who's good with words. Maybe that's a good thing? They balance each other out. One has what the other lacks. 

Richie's cheeks grow red and cold, his shirt waving in the breeze and a sentimental energy emitting from somewhere he cannot recognise. Would it feel right for Richie to say he could let the wind swallow him whole? After all, it was a pesky thing; always messing up his hair. But it felt just so sweet. A deep blanket of sepia, golden landscapes. The wind could take him places. A million miles away from Derry. The wind could teleport Richie to wherever he pleases. 1920s New York perhaps. Maybe? A man with a top hat waving a hand infront of his face. "Young man with the eyes of a king? A dreamy fellow, ar'nt ya? Wake up, boy, before a car sweeps you off ya feet." He laughs and the bubbling of old laughter snaps Richie back into reality, the perfumed symphony fading away from his mind. But still somewhere, the image of New York was in his head. Oozing behind his eyelids, he could still see it. Like a dream, isn't it? Well if it's just that, Richie wouldn't mind just letting loose, to plummet to the bottom of this twisted fantasy and wave his arms around. He dreams to be an actor, one day. Yes, a stage actor! Isn't that lovely? And when he drops down the rabbit hole of his dreams, who knows if he will be successful and land on his feet? Who's to say what will and will not be? 

He glances around, his gaze lingering on the gate of carved names. He guesses a "G" for Greta Keene. Or Gerald. He doesnt pay much mind to it.

Richie is rarely nervous. But today, he's more ready for death than to do what he's doing. He must do it, though. No backing up. It's something that has prompted him to do a lot of late night brooding. Something he hasn't done before.

It's a scary thing: acceptance. Should he be proud? He just feels scared. Should he be proud now, or when the whole phrase is finished? Is this even what you call acceptance? Whatever the answer might be, Richie was still shaking. His hands, his legs too. He sat on the shriveled grass and took the small knife out of his pocket, observing the object for a few seconds before bringing it up to the wood and starting to carve out the first letter of his name. Picking away at the small chunks of wood, he can't help but wonder when Eddie will get here. He picks and picks. Like he picks his scabs. Until they're red raw and gushing with blood. The "R" is a little wonky, but it's okay. He carves a "+" next to the "R", a tiny symbol, contrasting against the other simple letters on the wood.

His teeth start chattering because it's too cold, yet he will always insist every weather is perfect weather for a good hawaiian button up shirt. But he doesn't even button them up. 

Time seems to be ticking away very slowly. And Richie was never a patient boy. When is Eddie getting here, again?

He's sitting on the grass, an ant probably crawling up his legs, he feels them itch. God, it's windy today. He should have worn jeans. Or a sweater. What do you call those ones with the―oh yes, turtleneck. It might have looked stupid on him but who would care. He's sure Eddie would have loved it. Damnit! Why didn't he wear a turtleneck?! Does he even have one?

He's sitting on the grass and he's becoming more restless, bouncing his crossed leg up and down, tapping his finger on the ground. His eyes dart from tree to tree, and flower to flower. Richie wonders what it's like to be a bird. Or a caterpillar. Or a chunk of a cloud. An alabaster milky piece of cotton candy. An assemblage of unlikely occurrences, but as said, Richie likes to dream. And what exactly is so harmful about dreaming? Richie's mother tells him to snap out of it and "grow the fuck up!" What's so bad about it, if Richie is always acutely aware that he's dreaming? He's sure he can escape the dreams. _Is Eddie even coming?_ But sometimes he needs to reach out to climb out of his fantasies. A hand to grab his own and meet him half way. _To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. _

Beverly says_ "It's because you're a Pisces! So dreamy and out of it. You never can accept the reality. Can you, now?" _

Maybe. But Richie isn't so sure he believes all of that stuff. Though the sign descriptions fit his friends quite well. Beverly's an Aquarius. Creative and humanitarian but aloof. Mike is a Cancer. He's nurturing and caring. The sign of Scorpio belongs to Eddie. A concealed and mysterious individual. But very brave and ambitious, indeed.

No matter how many times Richie re-read Beverly's astrology book, he still considered it quite absurd. 

Richie feels like the neighbourhood is watching him carve his letter. Or the whole town. As if Mrs Moorsview from 5th grade peeked her head out of the bushes, or maybe the janitor from school is watching him right now. Perhaps Mr Laurent, his neighbour, stopped washing his car and is standing with a hand on his hip, his two kids stood by him. Richie feels like he's on stage. He feels like he's in a play. He likes it. The lights barrelling around every curve of his features, imitating the moon glow that lightens the nauseating meadows. His microphone stuck to his cheek projects his rigged breaths. People clap. They stand from their seats and they clap, and clap, and clap. They holler and Richie likes it. Richie laughs.

But they don't. The day is still and evil it seems like everyone is out of town. He is _bored_. The excessively overbearing and grand realization descends upon Richie. No one cares to even think about him today. Or any other day. Maybe the sun does, but whether she's judging him or she's smiling at him, he wouldn't know, although the epiphany that she was even watching made Richie feel proud. A rotten kind of proud but a humbling moment of joy. 

Richie feels one with nature. He feels like the grass beneath him jiggles, like amoeba droplets of wax in a lava lamp. He's the wax but he wiggles like a wobbly tooth. There was the clubhouse opposite him. Their spot. It was twirled in flowering rose vines and dirty, old moss. It has been a while since they've been up there. The door to the clubhouse seemed to be shrinking, and unlike Alice he didn't have a key, or a magic drink, or an anomalous cake. But it shrunk, and shrunk and if Richie could open it, maybe he'd be barelling through a tumbling tunnel of playing cards and painted red roses, enraptured and hypnotized by the sprouting talking flowers and purple hookah smoke. He could touch broken, flowery teacups with his hands and not cut them. He could be the teacup himself, toppling and bouncing off the counter. He'd watch tiny madams and sirs doing jumping jacks upon fastidious swirls of Aster petals, an amateurish sense to it, that might have been the reasoning behind Richie's peevishness. Richie could do much, much better. He could show them, if he had the key.

But he'll stay in this universe, for today.

"Hey you! You dragged me out in this cold, and for what?" He hears Eddie behind him. Richie's head snaps back to look at him.

"Eds."

The first time he called him "Eds" was 2 weeks into their friendship. Maggie was cooking pancakes on the bright Summer Saturday of 1983, her radio blasting music just a little too loud. Wentworth was washing his car, bubbles sprouting from every angle and Richie and Eddie wanted to help. And by help they meant getting soaked from the hose by Went and covering each other with bubbles. 

_"Ma! Me and Eds are going 'round the front, 'kay?" He shouts as he runs down the stairs, Eddie's hand in his own. _

_"Sure thing, Rich! I'll call you in when breakfast is ready!"_

_"Eds? Seriously?" Eddie grimaces. _

_"What about it?" Richie smiles his cheeky, signature gap-toothed smile._

"Yeah, dickwad, it's me. Tell me, you think it's a good idea to be wearing what you're wearing in this weather?"

Eddie feels the incoming waves of wind on his face, the leaves rustling and prancing about. He's cold but he worries more about Richie. 

"I've been waiting for long, you know."

"Yeah. Sorry," he looks at the ground. "Ma has had it with the weather, she doesn't want me going out." Eddie finishes, whilst placing his bike on the stand. His hair is messy and he is wearing a puffer coat. "Listen Richie, I think it's good you dragged me out. I've been meaning to tell you something."

"Your inevitable love for the one and only, me? I know how it must be―" Richie couldn't help it. But whenever he was met with confessions, admissions and secrets, or any conversation that started with "Can we talk?" or "Can I tell you something?" he felt the overwhelming urge to take a dip into his own daydreams and the crude absurdity that circles his mind.

"I'm moving." 

"What?"

"I'm moving, Richie. Out of Derry."

For a moment, Richie just stares.

"What are you talking about, Eddie? Since when? Why? When are you moving?" Richie frantically asked. This isnt happening, is it? It's just one of Richie's tipsy-turvy upside down dreams.

"My mom wants to get away from all the missing kids and murders. She doesn't want me to end up the same. And you know how close we were to becoming exactly that, Rich? I think it might be a good thing. This place will haunt me until the last of my days."

"You think running away from what has already happened will erase those memories? This is forever, Eddie!"

"Atleast it's something! It's a fresh start."

"You consider that moving away is a good thing? Away from the losers? From _me_?"

"You know I didn't mean it like that. Stop being selfish! This is what's good for me. And anyways, I wouldn't move if I wasn't told to."

"When?" Richie asks, looking at the ground, his fists curled up and tears seconds away from spilling.

"Tomorrow."

"What the fuck, Eddie? And you only tell me now? What if I never told you to meet me? Would you have never told me?"

"What the hell is wrong with you? I found out yesterday! Yesterday! I would have called but you told me to come here. And for what? For you to yell at me?" 

Richie simmers down. He's not angry at Eddie. But rather at the frightening occurrence of the 1989 Summer that's now making Eddie move away. Or Mrs Kaspbrak for forcing him to move. But how could she know that IT's dead and is no longer a threat? So he stuck with feeling mad at IT.

"No, actually." Richie says softly. "I wanted to show you something. And I was hoping you'd finish it. But if you're mad, you don't have to. I'm sorry."

"What is it then?" Eddie said, still annoyed.

Richie moves out of the way of the carving. Eddie comes closer and kneels down, his hand on the gate. His eyes widen and he's very still for a momemt before reaching out with his pointer finger, tracing the letter with precaution, careful not to get a splinter. He swirls around the wood and looks up at Richie.

"I know, I know. It's quite a beauty. The infamous Van Gogh has spoken. He has shown his abilities! Ah say, boy, with what luck have you had the opportunity to snoop yer nose into Gogh's very own gallery? It's a private sector, sir!" He says in an accent that Eddie isn't so sure about anymore. Richie feels the joke is unnatural. Like it doesn't fit in. This isn't their daily bantering on their way to the ice cream parlour, where Richie could slip in an accent or two. They were shouting at each other just a minute ago.

"Richie." 

"Sorry. I just―" he takes a deep breath. "When I'm nervous, you know I―you know what, nevermind. You know what I mean."

"Is this a joke, or something? If it is I―"

"No! No, it isn't! I swear!" Richie holds his hands in surrender, to show he's being truthful. 

Eddie holds out his hand for Richie to pass him the knife. He places it in his hand and Eddie starts to carefully carve the letter "E". He's very cautious, he wants to make it look nice. After all, it is going to be there for a hell of a long time. He takes a lot longer than Richie does, but he doesn't know that. Richie feels like he should have made his own look better. But it's no worry because Eddie grants Richie the purest, most syrupy smile he's ever given anybody after he's finished. Eddie stands up and hands Richie back the knife. And when Richie goes to get it, Eddie grabs his hand instead, dropping the knife. Richie's eyes widen a little.

"Rich and Eds." Eddie says.

"Always and Forever." Richie finishes with a soft chuckle.

_"Eddie?" Richie asked. The two were sat atop a high hill in 1985. _

_"Hm?" Eddie replied, throwing his head back into the tender embrace of the serene sun. He hadn't remembered the last time he were to sunbathe. He never really did so. Wether it was due to Sonia's complaint or Eddie's distaste, he also doesn't remember. But he just now was enlightened on how wonderful it feels._

_"You think we'll be friends always and forever?" _

_"Other way 'round, 'Chee. Forever and always. I do think that we will. Do you?"_

_A firm "Yes."_

_Forever is a long time. Longer than the stars were to ever live. Being together forever and always would mean being together in the mind. In the heart and soul. In the tips of the fingers and legs. It would mean melting into one and never letting go. To rummage through the evil with one foot infront of the other, restricting its destructive path into the heart, and swatting it away to reveal a glimpse of happiness. But the two 9 year olds would not know that._

_"Rich and Eds. Finish it off, Eddie." Richie says and looks at Eddie. _

_"Always and Forever." Eddie smiles with all of his teeth._

Eddie smoothes his fingers on Richie's hand, feeling every little crackle and pore of his skin. His hands are dirty, no doubt about that and Eddie doesn't mind. Richie's eyes are fixed on Eddie's, and he feels like he's in one of his dreams again. But this time, he doesn't know if he can escape. Eddie is what keeps him in his trance. He brings his other hand to take Eddie's left hand and Eddie shakes his hand off, placing it on the side of Richie's face. He twirls his curl and tucks it behind his ear.

Eddie kisses Richie. It is soft and it is beautiful. The beckoning suprise was enough to let them melt together. Enough to close any parallel reality Richie has opened with his mind. This touch was welcoming. It's a touch that could lead him to the edge of the Earth. He could conquer worlds with this touch as his guide. He would face anything life throws at him with this feeling deep inside him. Because he thinks he'll always remember it. Whatever lies ahead of him, he'll make sure he's doing it with Eddie even if they're not together at that very moment. 

They separate, slowly.

"I've always loved you." Says Eddie.

"And I'll always love you." Richie replies.

Richis wraps his arms around Eddie, warm tears cascading down his cheeks and Eddie doesn't realise he's also crying. His tears burn holes in Eddie's shirt. They're painful and acidic but Eddie holds him tighter. 

Love's an awful, evil thing. It's a fever. Comes and goes. But to love is to be vulnerable. To be exposed. For it is the most fatal and lethal emotion in the world. Stronger than hate and anger. Because it can perform so much more damage than the two ever will. Love wants to control us and cannot stand the thought of us controlling it. Because love is madness. 

It doesn't come from a simple love confession, though. You can be sure somebody loves you without ever hearing them say it. The soft touches and faint changes in the tone of voice. Small acts of kindness and a different look in the eye. 

That's why Richie was sure Eddie loved him and Eddie was sure Richie loved him. The continuous years of blossoming, youthful tenderness were just enough to serve as a confirmation for the two love-fools. But you cannot help loving who you love and you cannot help becoming a fool for doing so. Is it foolish, though? See, you only find out the answer when you, too, fall in love.

Love is a maze. When you think you've found its loopholes, it drags you back to where you started. It doesn't want us to discover its origin or meaning. It wants us to just simply _love_ and be _loved_. 

They stand straight and look at each other. Richie brings his hand to hold Eddie's cheek and Eddie leans into the touch. He brings up his own hand and places it on top of Richie's. Hot and cold. Eddie is warm and Richie is cold. Richie wipes one of Eddie's many tears and kisses his cheek. 

"Goodbye, Richie." 

"G'bye, Eddie. I love you."

"I love you, too, 'Chee. You know I do." 

When the time comes, Richie will forget. When he's 18 and he's big and grown, he will move away and he will forget. And when he returns for the last time in 27 years, he'll kiss Eddie again, with the same traces of affection. Yet even so, after the defeat, he will move back to California and he will forget for whom he cried so much on the day when all evil was diminished. He will forget who gave him such a tender touch. He'll forget at who his first "I love you" was aimed at. His only "I love you", actually.

_Maybe in another lifetime, Richie, my love._

No more dreams. Just breathe, Rich. _It's okay._

"You're okay" Eddie's voice resonates in Richie's head throughout his whole life. Even when he doesn't know it's Eddie. 

One. Two. Three. Breathe out. _You're okay. _

**Author's Note:**

> whew this was sad teehee. lol ive never written fanfics on ao3 but for anyone off of wattpad it's me xtrashmouth lmaooooo ayo bitch. this was written in honour of reddie becoming canon bc we're all at the #reddieiscanonparty whilst ignoring how richie and eddie's story ends. hope you enjoyed :)


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